


Sentimental

by sarah_x



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, i lost motivation can you tell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 02:53:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12718173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarah_x/pseuds/sarah_x
Summary: Sentimentality was lost on Fantomex.





	Sentimental

**Author's Note:**

> Lost motivation so this is uhhhh not as good as I wanted it to be. They were gunna drink the wine and do other stuff but instead......... have Fantomex playing with cats and having a crisis I guess.

Sentimentality was lost on Fantomex.

There was no past for him to mull over because he had no past. Everything about him, right down to his baseline features, was manufactured. Fake. It was something he’d grown to accept over the years, as common a factor in his life as clouds were in the sky. He’d even appropriated it for his own use: he’d always loved the twang of the French accent. Dwelling on forgotten friendships and misplaced affections seemed counterproductive. Finding any sort of solace in life meant moving forward and cutting his loses.

Remy Lebeau was the opposite. Fantomex had met a version of the man years ago, in a dystopian timeline where Apocalypse had taken over. Remy had sacrificed himself to save Rogue. To save Fantomex, too, to obtain the Life Seed and save their own universe from destruction. When he’d met his version of Remy, he’d always been marred by that first impression, that memory of seeing him engulfed in flames. It bothered him that, of all his memories, fictitious and otherwise, that was one of the few that remained ingrained in all three of his minds.

Gambit’s attachments were obvious. Fantomex eyed the framed photographs hanging on the wall of Remy’s living room. He could hear the soft sound of the shower from across the room. Remy’s apartment was open plan, lacking in privacy. A convenience for him, Fantomex was sure, if the raunchy tales were to be believed.

He lifted a framed photograph off the wall, ran a gloved thumb over the frame. It was a picture of some incarnation of the X-Men. Logan, Storm, Jubilee, the infamous Jean Grey. And Gambit, of course, tight-lipped and cautious. It must have been one of the first photographs he’d taken with the X-Men, Fantomex decided, as his demeanour became looser in the other photographs, giving way to something more alluring, especially in the photographs with Rogue. By the time he’d reached X-23, the seductive, devil-may-care character had taken full form.

Fantomex may not have understood sentimentality but staring at the photographs stirred something in him, some tender feeling he couldn’t quite pin down. It was highly irritating, so he put the picture back on the wall.

The door to the shower opened, allowing a plume of steam to drift out. Remy stood there for a moment, towel wrapped around his waist and hand still hanging on the handle, staring at Fantomex.

Remy said, “I thought you woulda left by now.”

Fantomex wasn’t sure why he’d stayed, either. They’d been partners for a few months, but it had been mostly professional. Perhaps not their constant tit-for-tat but Fantomex had avoided fucking the other man and satisfying any hedonistic curiosities that had arose during their time together. That was about as professional as the man could hope for.

“So eager to get rid of me?” Fantomex offered, crossing his arms and leaning up against the back of the couch, “You wound me, _mon ami_.”

“Figured you’d want ta’ count your winnings,” Remy was eyeing him, seemingly unsure of himself by Fantomex’s unexpected behaviour. He gripped the edge of his towel defensively. “You thought this place was… what was it?”

Fantomex smirked, mask hiding it perfectly, “Insalubrious.”

Remy rolled his eyes, but a smile played on his lips. He regarded Fantomex through a narrowed gaze, a hint of interest in his stare, “Why are you here, Jean-Phillipe?”

“What else is a man to do on a Saturday night then drink with his best friend in the whole world?” Fantomex leaned down, picked up the bottle of Chateau Margaux he had been hiding on the couch, waved it at Remy with a grin.

“Not really a wine drinker.”

“You philistine,” Fantomex said with a sigh, “Oh well. Perhaps it’s time I… _broadened your palate_.”

The double entendre was not lost on Remy, Fantomex could tell that much from the expression that crossed Remy’s face, a moment of consideration, before he turned his back on Fantomex and headed towards his bedroom door. Fantomex waited, found himself strangely hanging on for some verbal response, even if all physical indicators screamed rejection. Remy paused, one hand on the door and looked over his shoulder at Fantomex, red eyes playful in the soft light, “Wait here.”

Remy disappeared into the bedroom, door open ever so slightly. Enough to peek in like a schoolboy, if he were so inclined, but he decided against it. The foundation of trust he’d built with Gambit had taken months to cultivate and it was unsteady enough as it was. He crossed to the front of the couch, collapsed down onto it. He put his feet up, not bothering to take off his boots or duster. He leaned back, head resting over his crossed arms, and closed his eyes. It was a nice little place, the apartment, if cheap and run down. He would never admit it to Remy, but he quite enjoyed being there. It had become a regularity, a constant in his life, more so than he’d liked to admit. Everything in The World had been manufactured, time had been accelerated. The place he’d called home had been nothing more than pixels and coding. This place was bricks and plaster, filled with books and ornaments. It was real.

Something leapt into his lap, making him flinch. He glanced down. A ginger kitten greeted him, kneading his crotch until he had to pick the kitten up to avoid further injury. It let out a mew of protest as Fantomex lifted it off him.

“You’ll have to buy me dinner before you get a tour down there, _chaton_.”

He allowed the cat to settle on his chest. The kitten purred with appreciation, rubbing the side of its head against Fantomex’s chin. His hand hovered over the kitten, reluctant, as if afraid he might crush it. Finally, he allowed his gloved hand to push into the kitten’s fur. He stroked the cat lightly, bringing his hand round to rub the kitten’s ears and scratch under its chin.

A laugh came from across the room. He glanced in the direction of Remy’s bedroom door, saw him stood there in a black shirt and jeans, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, “Shoulda guessed,” He said with a wicked grin, “No surprise Lucifer’s warming up to ya.”

“Naming your pets after fictional boogeymen,” Fantomex scoffed, “That must be considered animal neglect in some countries, _non_?”

“I was thinkin’ more _Paradise Lost_ when I had the name in mind.” Remy replied and Fantomex was genuinely surprised. Maybe the man wasn’t as uncultured as he appeared. Lucifer stretched out across Fantomex’s chest, paws on either shoulder, hanging off him like a necklace.

“I know thieving from you would be unprofessional, however effortless it may be,” Fantomex said, stroking down Lucifer’s back and tail. “But this one is mine now.”

A genuine laugh spilled from Remy’s lips. It was jarring to him, unaccompanied by the usual taunts or stabs at arrogance. He moved over to the couch, pushed Fantomex’s legs away when he refused to move them. Lucifer clung to Fantomex like a koala, Fantomex supporting him with one hand under his tail until both settled into a comfortable, upright position.

Remy sat very close to Fantomex, close enough Fantomex was greeted by the strawberry shampoo scent still lingering from his shower. Remy reached forward, stroked the back of Lucifer’s head. He said, very softly, “Ya don’t strike me as much as a cat person, Jean-Phillipe. Or a person in general, but maybe that’s a debate for anotha’ time.”

Fantomex frowned at him, mask on his face only thing hiding his hurt, “Surprise, _mon ami_ , I have feelings. Just because I was built to be a weapon doesn’t mean I’m reduced to cold metal.”

Remy went quiet. Fantomex didn’t look at him, he continued to watch Lucifer, the light rise and fall of the kitten’s small chest against Fantomex’s own. Another one of Remy’s little attachments. Maybe he didn’t understand it, but he was beginning to see the appeal.

After a few moments, Remy rose off the couch and threw another, “Wait here.” over his shoulder as he disappeared behind his bedroom door.

“I’m getting bored of hearing you say that.”

When he returned, he was carrying a bottle opener in his teeth, a pair of drinking glasses in his hand and had two more kittens perched on either shoulder. He put the glasses and the bottle opener down on the coffee table. He deposited the kittens in Fantomex’s lap before the other man could protest. Not that he would have.

“They grey one is Oliver,” He pointed to the cat that was using Fantomex’s thigh as scratching post. “And the white one is Figaro.”

“Wait a moment,” Fantomex replied, processing what Remy had just said. “These are… these are Disney cats.”

“…What?”

“ _Paradise Lost?”_ Fantomex threw his head back and laughed, _“Connerie!”_

Remy’s smile was tight-lipped in the face of Fantomex’s mockery, “Alright, you got me. I forget how much you see through me sometimes.”

Fantomex tapped the side of his temple, “It’s impossible to fool a master of misdirection.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Remy leaned into Fantomex’s space, ghosting the white fabric of the mask that hid his lips. He smelled like strawberries and catnip. He lingered for a moment, then reached over and grabbed the bottle opener. “There are other ways ta’ misdirect.”

Fantomex brought Lucifer closer to him, hands cuddling into the kitten. He was wholly aware of himself in that moment, aware that Remy had trusted him for many months in his home and now trusted him with these creatures… meaningless to some, family to him. He had trusted Fantomex the child killer with innocent life.

Fantomex had become an attachment. He imagined himself a picture on the wall, standing with his arms crossed, demeanour severe, while Remy leaned against his shoulder casually. He imagined spending the next few days in Remy’s bed, feeling the man’s lips on his back. He imagined sitting in the hallway, getting Lucifer to play with a laser pointer.

Maybe he was a tad sentimental.

Remy moved to open the Chateau but Fantomex’s hand over his stilled him, “Not tonight.”

“You decide I ain’t worth drinking your fancy wine?”

“I decided that I wanted to remember, for once,” Fantomex said, “I want this to be real.”


End file.
